


Prosperity's Budget

by coricomile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: Sam was ready to be violated.
Relationships: Missy Bender/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Prosperity's Budget

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Family Ways](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161703) by [Maygra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra). 



Sam was ready to be violated. 

The two rednecks had smashed the butt of a shotgun against his head through the bars of the cage and tied him up before he could put up a real fight. The last thing he'd eaten had been the three biscuits the little girl had brought him. They'd been sweet with honey, just how she'd said, and not obviously poisoned. He hadn't had a homemade anything in years, and even though the hunger gnawed through him, he'd savored the feel of honey sweet, butter risen dough in his mouth. 

When the idiot brothers came to round him up, Sam fought. He pulled every trick Dad and Dean had taught him, but he was weak from lack of food, from lack of sleep, from the hit that had left him unconscious for at least two days. He tried to use his height, his weight, against them as they dragged him from the barn into the house, but the bigger one kept a hand in his hair, close to the root so it hurt any time Sam moved his head, and the smaller one took every break as a chance to smash his big ham fist into Sam's gut and wind him. 

"Stop your fighting," the smaller one said as he frog-marched Sam up the rotten, broken stairs. "Ain't hunting you tonight. You gonna get the best reward of them all, you filthy fuck." 

They shoved Sam past a door swollen with humidity, into a room lit by half a dozen oil lamps. There was a bed, hidden under a canopy of curtains pulled straight from the 1950s, all heavy canvas and thick, tacky embroidery. A giant trunk sat at the foot of it, two dressers along the walls. Sam could see his furious face in a cracked mirror hung on the wall, sweating and red and dirty. This was a bedroom. This was where someone laid their head at night. This was a place someone lived in. 

The smaller man punched Sam again, his knuckles grating into the bone of Sam's cheek and turning his vision grey, white black. The big one smiled, teeth as rotten as the stairs, and held up a hunting knife. The edges were dull. Sam could see the blunted edges from a foot away. It would hurt more, when they stabbed him. At least a sharp blade would go in easy. 

But the blade didn't sink into his chest. The big one stuck the dull blade under the neck of Sam's t-shirt and sliced through the neckline all the way down to the hem at the bottom. The metal felt cold and way too human against his skin. The big one cut off his shirt, cut his jeans and briefs off with efficient strokes. They knew how to use knives. They knew what they were doing. 

Sam, sweating and too cold and so, so pained that they were people- just normal, non-supernatural _people_ \- bucked and fought and tried to grab the upper hand. The little one punched him in the face and stars danced behind Sam's eyes. All he could think was that Dean would be so disappointed. Together they tied him to the bed, locking his arms and legs down. The little one punched him again, a knock of knuckles to his mouth that left him bleeding and sore. 

"We should've hosed him off in the barn," the big one said as he slapped a sodden rag down onto Sam's chest and scrubbed off the blood and sweat and dirt. Sam rose his knees up as much as he could when the little one scrubbed at his ass and dick, squeezing hard enough for it to be a warning. "Stop fighting, or we'll cut it off." The big one wiped down the sticky blood from Sam's cheek and forehead, mouth held tight and eyes hard. 

"Good enough," the little one said, and they threw a moth-eaten quilt over him. 

Sam was ready to be violated. He wasn't ready for her. 

Missy, the little girl from the barn with the honey sweetened biscuits, climbed into the dark canopy of the bed, her wild hair tied into a braid and her little body barely hidden under a slip of tattered blue lace and satin. Sam's stomach clenched. Jess had had something that had looked almost like that in better repair, would pull it on nights when she felt extra flirty and wanted to tease him. 

"You can't be serious," Sam said, his throat closing on itself. He could hear the redneck boys talking together, voices low and unintelligible. They were throwing their little sister at him like some sort of carnival prize, laughing about her _blooding_. "God, you can't-" Sam yanked against the ropes tying him to the iron bed frame, but the knots held steady. "Missy- you're just a girl. You're just a child."

"I ain't," she said, her gray eyes and steely and cold. She sat back on the bed, the lacy edge of her too-big lingerie tickling against Sam's calf. "I been a woman full on for almost a year."

Her tiny little hand pulled the quilt away from his body. She looked over his chest, his stomach, his entire body with dark eyes, like she was assessing a bull. Breeding stock, Sam thought with horror. He was breeding stock to this- this _child_ , a donor to add into the sick, perverse, entirely _human_ family that had gotten one over on him. 

"Missy, you don't want to do this," Sam said. His voice cracked on her name. It was the name of a scolded girl. _Don't say that to me, missy. Don't backtalk, missy._ "I don't want this "

"What? I ain't pretty enough for you?" Missy recoiled away, like Sam had somehow hit her. Her hand skirted over the frizzy end of her braided hair, the moth-eaten hem of her silky lingerie. He swallowed and shook his head. What had they done to her? How badly had they damaged this poor child?

"Missy," he said again, pleading. She was thirteen, if that. When he had been that age, Dad had reluctantly given him the responsibility speech and Dean had given him the speech on how to make a woman orgasm. He still waited for three more years until he kissed the first girl, high on adrenaline and the forbidden knowledge that it would never and could never mean anything. Not while he was a Winchester. "You're just a little girl. This is wrong."

"My momma was only a year older when she got with my Daddy," Missy said with her high voice. She touched the scars on Sam's chest, ran her fingers over his stomach and down to his thighs, cataloging him like a panting in a museum. Her face went dark before she drew the curtains fully closed around them, the smaller redneck's face full of filth before it was blocked away. 

Sam had seen Dean sleep with women when he was Missy's age. His big brother, a whole seventeen years old, whispering filth into their ears and making the motel bed squeal. He had always screwed his eyes shut and pretended that the rhythmic squeaks had been a drumbeat, a layer to a song he hadn't heard before. But girls- girls were different. If Dean had been a girl- if _Sam_ had been a girl-

"Missy," he said again, his fingers wrapped tight around the rope holding him in place. If he could just get a knife, if he could just get the right purchase on the knot- "Your mother- she loved your Daddy, right?"

"Uh huh," Missy said. Her hand moved from his chest down to his cock. She pet it like a dog, her cupped palm running over his skin like a science experiment. There wasn't anything inside of him that was turned on, but it had been so long since he'd been touched- six months since he'd seen Jess burning on the ceiling, six months and one day since he'd woken her up with his mouth on her soft stomach and his fingers feeling where she was warm and always, always ready for him.

He tried to rein in the feeling, tried to separate the feel of his cock getting hard from the horrified, bile rising feeling inside of him. Biological reaction, he told himself as Missy curiously squeezed the head of his cock in her shy palm. 

"But you don't love me," Sam said gently. 

This wasn't a girl who believed in unicorns and free will. Her father and brothers had warped her, taken away her humanity and spirit and self before she had the chance to find them on her own. But if he could just appeal to what she had left inside of her, if he could just take the courtesy of the curtain privacy to make her see reason, to get her on his side long enough-

"I don't-" The air left Sam's lungs as she pressed her palm harder against his cock, the other venturing down to stroke over his balls in tentative, gentle caresses. Sam grit his teeth against her wide-eyed, starry looks and yanked harder against the ropes. His arms and legs stayed in place. The rednecks knew how to tie their knots, and the even if the iron didn't look new, it had been put together too well to bend. 

"I might could," Missy said. She let go of Sam's cock but her hand raised to his face instead, fingertips ghosting over his eyelids and cheek and mouth. He opened his eyes, his stomach sick as he took in the wonder creeping over her pale face. "Maybe. If you stayed. I might could. You might love me back." She curled her fingers around Sam's, cool and so small. "It's a good farm. Pa takes good care of us." Her rough lips brushed over his cheek in a tender kiss, sweet and almost shy. He wondered if it was her first. "Always room for family." Sam shook his head, the only option he had for pushing her away. 

"Missy, I have a fam-" Before he could get the word out, Missy had pressed her mouth against his, a bruising, still pressure. This girl had never kissed anyone before. She kept her mouth against his, her lips still as she waited for him to take over, and Sam did his best to yank away. 

"You tell them," Missy said soft and quiet against Sam's trembling lip, "they will kill you." Sam looked over at the dark shadows behind the curtains, Missy's brothers standing guard. 

"Won't they anyway?" Sam asked, his voice matching her whisper. Either Dean would find him and free him, or those rednecks would put a bullet into his skull before sunrise. There was no other option. And, looking at Missy's bright smile, he wished for the bullet. 

"Not if you are nice to me." Missy tried to kiss him again and Sam tilted his head, digging his skull into the flat pillow to give himself what little space was available. 

Missy huffed out an angry child noise and sat her weight on his chest. He could feel her, warm and bare skinned. Dean had always told him he liked it best when the women he slept with were shaved bare, nice and smooth and nothing in the way when he went down on them. Sam had liked it, too, maybe a holdover from imprinting on Dean's secondhand stories, maybe something else. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stomach it again. 

Missy's chewed nails explored over his chest, curiously touched one nipple and then the other. She treated him like she'd never seen a man outside of her brothers and father, like he was some sort of treat to be treasured and savored. When she sat up, she pulled the top of her dress down, baring her flat, little girl chest and Sam closed his eyes. 

He would have rather it had been one of the brothers. He'd been ripped into by things before. He'd recovered from pain and violence things so far in his head they haunted him at night. He didn't know if he could stand to be the torture, to be the weapon used to tear this girl apart, even if she was the one doing the tearing. 

He let his mind go as she touched him, as he brothers gave her helpful hints through the curtains on how to get him hard. He thought of blood, of torn up monster insides, of Dean sticking him with needles to sew him up. He thought about fire and the smell of death, and his cock stayed soft against his stomach, trapped under Missy's body. 

"Pa said you had grease. What do I do with it?" Missy pawed at Sam's half hard cock, curious fingers stretching skin and playing at his nerves with wandering, innocent fingers. 

"Y..you put it on him. On his penis, get him good and slick. That'll get him hard- hard enough for-" One of the brothers. It sounded like the one that could be reasoned with, the one that knew he shouldn't be handing his baby sister's pussy over. Sam's stomach turned. 

"Maybe he don't like girls," the smaller one said with a sneer as Missy pulled the curtain back. Her little fingers closed around a tub of lard her eyes bright as fire. Sam could have called down from the heavens if his body would have ignored the call. He didn't like girls. He liked smoke heavy women and men with glass jaws and bodies strong enough to press into his own. 

"You'd best stop that before I get Pa," Missy hissed. 

"That the way this is, boy? You don't like girls?" The little one stared down into Sam's face, his crooked teeth and rot on display. Sam's stomach turned but his cock went hard under the lard slick of Missy's hand and he _hurt_.

"I don't have sex with children," Sam said, teeth clamped down on the vicious, animal place inside of him that wanted go rut and claim and be on top for once, for _fucking once_. "She's your sister."

When one of the brothers told her to put her mouth on him, Sam jerked against the ropes again. He would break his own wrists if he had to to slip free. He'd fought in worse conditions, he could grab the girl and run down the stairs, and maybe Dean would have found him, and maybe they could get Missy to somewhere safe, and maybe, maybe, maybe- 

A hand settled on Sam's throat, pressing down with the weight of gravity and need and duty. Missy's sweet, child mouth curled around Sam's cock, exploratory and innocent. 

"I ain't sitting in here all night, waiting for you to get in the mood, boy," one of the brothers said, and Sam choked as a meaty hand wrapped around his throat, fingers sinking around his windpipe. Sam gasped and looked up into his face, eyes burning with rage and fear and frustration. "Do it, Missy."

Sam bit his lip hard enough to feel his teeth slip through the skin when warm and wet and hot wrapped around his cock. It felt like Sarah Jefferson all over again, the first girl who had sweetly asked to give him a blowjob after the first and only school dance Sam had gone to. All eagerness and no skill, no idea how a cock worked, but a determination that won out in the end. 

Sam thought of diseased bodies, of insides spilling onto the outside, of Dean testing his way from death's claws by sheer dumb luck. He thought of his faceless, nameless mother and tried to shove down the heat inside of him that grew and grew under the heat of this child. 

Two warnings to play nice. Two hands, both strong and shot rough with the barrel of a gun, placed over his throat and cutting off his breath. Missy looked up at him with wide eyes under messy hair more than once, and Sam's traitor cock rose to the occasion. 

Maybe he was his father's son. Maybe he really was Dean's stunted brother. 

Missy's little hand replaced her little mouth, slick with greasy lard. Sam could only hope it came from a pig, could only hope that the fat melting against the slick, hot, wrong length of his cock was animal instead of human. How well did a pig grease versus a human? Did these redneck fucks have a space just to harvest fat and sinew and tendon for their own sick rituals? 

Sam closed his eyes and said a prayer to the God that had never once heard him. Missy squirmed her little hips over Sam's, rubbed her tiny, bare little pussy over the heat of Sam's cock, and Sam prayed for salvation. Let him not lead into temptation. Let him have the shred of a good man hidden somewhere under his skin. 

"That's it, girl. You won't break. You just ain't used to it." One of the bother's voices as Missy fit her tiny, tiny hole over Sam's cock and push, push, pushed until be fit inside of her. Sam yanked against his bonds, skin tearing and muscles aching. He wouldn't participate, he _wouldn't_ -

"Oh, God, please." Sam sank his teeth into his own bicep, tasted his own blood. Missy was so tight, so warm and welcoming and- "Don't." Sam tried to stop his hips from thrusting up, but he saw the movement all along Missy's body, saw her move with the strength he had. Bull. He was a bull, and sweet little Missy is the fertile cow. It didn't make things easier. 

"Pull up a bit, Missy," the little one said, panting with his own need. Sam could see him between the short curtains of the bed, one hand shoved between his thighs and one holding the curtains open. Sam was just a placeholder. A visual for the fucked waiting to happen.

Missy lifted her hips then sat back down. She frowned, little girl face scrunched as she tried to work out how to work Sam's dick inside of her. She prodded at the spaces between them, shivered as she found the spots that screamed soft and sensitive. Sam squeezed his eyes closed and tried to ignore the slick, hot, wet, warm-

"Missy, please-" Sam jerked against his ties, against the feather weight of Missy holding him down. It had been six months since Jess, a lifetime since- 

Sam whined high in his throat as he felt his balls draw up. He thought of Jess and pretty girls and freckles in the night and dug his nails into his palms, the only pain he could give himself, but-

But Missy was hot and tight around him. Missy drove her tiny little hips into his, riding him like a shiny toy, and Sam was only a man. He could only- Sam came. Sam spilled himself inside a tiny little girl with a tight clutch right on his cock and eyes too big to be human and he fought and he tried, but Missy's little hips drove and ground and sucked him up until Sam couldn't find the edges of himself anymore. 

Missy's little hand moved between their bellies, her fingers ungainly and messy as she worked herself over, still riding Sam's cock like she'd been trained. Sam squeezed his eyes closed and thought of blonde hair and green eyes and the places that left him squirming in the dark as Missy sighed and moaned. Sam's cock jerked and spilled and spilled and spilled inside wet, wicked warmth. 

Missy collapsed against him, her tiny body folding over Sam's, her lips touching Sam's throat. She stared at him with unblinking eyes as her brothers wrapped her up in sex act sheets and carried her away. Sam watched her bigger brother take her into his arms, a collapsed wreck that Sam had created, and tried to chew through his own bonds. They used him. He didn't think of a dark haired child with Winchester eyes. He didn't think of anything. 

"She's your sister," Sam said weakly as fist after fist after fist met his jaw. He dragged his arms against the rope until he felt blood dripping down his arms. He screamed at the top of his lungs, only to get dirty fingers shoved into his mouth and cold laughter pumped into his ears. 

He went black before he could know what the brothers had in store. He wished they had gotten to him before she did. 

\---

"Sam- Sammy-" 

"Dean-"

His savior had come. A day too late, but Dean was here, and he would be free and Missy would be a nightmare thing he'd left in the past. Sam clung to his cage, his clothes still wet and his hair stuck to his face and his dick slimy wet with a child-

In the end, the fight wasn't bad. Not compared to a lifetime of ghosts and ghouls and vampires. People made mistakes. People faltered. People were their own damn downfalls. 

Kathleen was going to kill him. Pa. Missy had said his name a few times in the short time they'd spent together under moth eaten sheets. Pa, pa, pa- the man that hung over them like a knife. The man that laid his thirteen year old daughter out from some stranger's dick, told her it was the way. 

Sam could see it in Kathleen's eyes. The second he stepped away, the sick fuck father of the sick fuck family would have a bullet in his brain. Maybe the brothers, too, shot in the cage like animals. Sam shouldn't let her. They were just people- wrong and twisted, but still people. _Human_. And then he thought of Missy, so proud to have a grown man violate her in the eyes of her brothers, and knew he wouldn't do the right thing. 

He hadn't gotten five hundred feet from the barn when he heard the shot. 

Dean grabbed him up in strong arms and held him close when the were miles away, gritty with road dirt and honest sweat, and Sam fell into him. He couldn't think of Missy. He couldn't put himself in the shoes of that child, malformed and sick and wasted from the day she was born, but he saw her little flat chest heave behind his closed eyes. He heard her whine when he tried to sleep. 

Missy was a witness of the past. Missy was a child they saved. Missy. Sam didn't cry, because he was a full grown man. But he thought of her- blooding, woman, warmth around him bare and hot- and felt the stab full force.


End file.
